


day break

by belovedmuerto



Series: An Experiment in Apathy [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Baskerville - Freeform, EiE, Gen, M/M, but not at all to do with the second series episode., eia, empath!John, experiment in empathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-18 18:26:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedmuerto/pseuds/belovedmuerto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An epilogue to "assist the storm".</p>
            </blockquote>





	day break

**Author's Note:**

> As always, Castiron is the best beta a girl could hope for. This was originally the end to "assist the storm" until she told me it didn't work, but it'd make a good epilogue/ficlet.
> 
> So that's what it is.

Sherlock wakes up to someone pounding on the door. He’s in John’s room at Baskerville, on John’s narrow, uncomfortable bed. His back hurts, there’s a crick in his neck and his brain is full of distracting and worrisome fog. 

John isn’t there. 

_Why does he keep doing this?_ Sherlock uncurls himself in the bed and tries to stretch out the kinks.

He twists around to look at the tiny analog clock sat on the only marginally bigger nightstand, and sees that it’s past three in the morning. 

The pounding on the door continues, finally penetrating the fog of drowsiness, of being massively thrown off his already crazy sleep schedule, and Sherlock rolls out of bed to answer the door.

It’s Corporal Lyons, hair wild, uniform disheveled.

“Mr Holmes,” he says, a little out of breath, a little harried, a little worried.

“Yes, what?” Sherlock is distracted; where is John? He has to go find John. Where would he have gone, why would he be so late? Why would he be not here? Sherlock doesn’t sleep well without John nearby, and he can barely even feel his friend in his head. This is not good. Very not good.

“It’s Doctor Watson--”

“What about him?” Sherlock’s irritation shows through his increasing worry that _John isn’t here_. He hasn’t returned from his walk. He’s not in the facility. He’s gone. Where has he gone? What’s wrong, why didn’t he come back?

\----

The search goes on for hours. John had last been seen walking off the grounds of the facility onto the moor, shortly before darkness fell, as reported by the soldier standing guard at the tiny gate at the back of the property. He’d apparently warned the doctor that darkness would be falling quickly, and John had only acknowledged him with a grunt as he passed by. Which to Sherlock means that John hadn’t heard him at all, was too deep in his own thoughts, and utterly unprepared for darkness to fall while he was out walking.

Sherlock eventually breaks away from the rest of the group he’s supposed to be with. John is close enough for him to feel, but with the noise of the others he can’t concentrate enough to pinpoint him, so he hangs back and then he turns and walks off in the opposite direction, placing his feet carefully, leaving his torch turned off for the time being, until they’re far enough away for it to be quiet, for him to be able to concentrate.

John feels quiet in his head, almost cozy, warm. It’s odd, but comforting. At least he’s ok. At least he seems to be safe. Sherlock feels some of the worry ease from his mind, the tension drain from his shoulders.

He walks for ages. When he can’t see the lights of the rest of the group any longer, he turns his torch back on, except when he needs to stop and orient himself to John’s location. It’s difficult; he doesn’t know how John was able to do it for an entire afternoon during testing without ending up entirely exhausted.

Except John had ended up entirely exhausted. 

Sherlock is going to require sleep after this. Much more sleep than he usually requires. He’ll have to make sure he never admits to that. He’s developing a headache, but he pushes on, closer and closer, closer and closer. He’s stood near a rocky outcropping with dawn fast approaching when he hears a distinctive laugh, from quite nearby.

“John? John, can you hear me?”

Another laugh, and then, “Sherlock?”

Sherlock nearly collapses in relief. He searches, nearly frantic, until he finds the entrance to the small cave where John is curled up with a great black beast on top of him.

A great black beast that is licking his face enthusiastically. The dog turns at Sherlock’s entrance and gives a joyous bark. John grabs its collar to keep it from bounding across the tiny space to jump on Sherlock.

Sherlock crouches down to fit--sort of--into the tiny space, and looks at John in the dim light cast by his torch. He knows his relief must be evident, in his face and his mind, but he doesn’t try to hide it.

“Nice walk?”

John snorts. “Oh yeah, it was great. ‘Until it got dark, anyway.”

The dog wriggles happily between them, licks John’s hand and then turns her attention on Sherlock, snuffling at his coat and his neck. Sherlock doesn’t pay her any heed, he’s too busy looking at John, _looking_ at him, trying to reassure himself that John is all right.

“I’m fine,” John assures him. “I got lost, is all. It got dark. Then this girl showed up; I thought I was going to be eaten. But we kept each other warm. I would’ve made my way back when it got light.”

“Only you, John.” Sherlock backs out of the cave, and John and the dog follow him. The dog bounds off on too long legs, too big paws. 

“She’s a puppy,” Sherlock says. 

“Yeah,” John agrees. “Must have got loose from someone’s garden in the village. She’s got tags on; her name is Beast.”

“How appropriate.”

John laughs. “Let’s head back.”

“Let’s go home, John.”

“Yes, all right. In another day or two, once this study has wrapped up.”

They start walking back the way Sherlock came, though John soon corrects their course towards Baskerville. 

“John?”

“Hmm?”

“Why did I have to say that?”  
“Say what, Sherlock?”

“That you don’t have to do everything, John. That you don’t have to be strong enough for both of us.”

John can see that he’s struggling with it; he feels like it should be obvious, and it is, to an extent. But John had needed to hear that. It helps, somehow. He doesn’t think he can explain how, but it does. He smiles at Sherlock, bumps shoulders with him as they walk. “Because I’m an idiot, Sherlock.”

“Ah. Well.” Sherlock smiles, and they continue walking.


End file.
